


“Just get in here!” - the X-rated version

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Denmark Street musings [10]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 10:25:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18179396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: This was originally one of the First Kisses, which had when initially written got a bit steamy, but I cut the smut out and posted it as a First Kiss. Feeling bad I’ve not got anything new to post, so I thought I’d pop it on here in lieu of doing any work on the WIPs on my list. And I smutted it up a little more, because...do I need a reason? ;)





	“Just get in here!” - the X-rated version

“We have to find the right office, and fast,” Strike murmured in her ear as they hurried down the corridor. “I don’t think we’ll be missed from the party, but security patrols regularly.”

Robin glanced down at herself. “We’re not much of a pair for running, between your leg and this dress,” she said. She hadn’t been able to resist wearing the green dress. She was possibly a little overdressed for the party, but she had longed to wear it for years, and with Matthew out of the picture she finally could. She had noticed the look on Strike’s face when she slid into the taxi next to him, the way he pulled his gaze from her and flushed slightly. He looked gorgeous in his Italian suit.

They had one shot at finding the right office and slipping in. Strike had been watching the patterns of the security guards carefully all evening as they patrolled the corridors.

Robin tried the first door. Locked. Strike was trying the next. The corridor was dimly lit, only security lighting on, so that it got darker as they moved away from the party. They rounded a corner and started down the next stretch.

Torchlight flashed across the end of the corridor. Someone was approaching the far corner. “Cormoran,” breathed Robin, grabbing his arm.

“Fuck,” Strike said. “They’ve turned back.”

Robin tried the nearest door. Also locked. Strike grabbed the next and miraculously it opened. “In here,” he hissed, and dived in.

Robin stepped across to the door and pulled up in horror. This wasn’t an office, it was a cleaners’ cupboard, and it was tiny. Barely enough room for the metal bucket and mop that stood in it, and the few shelves of cleaning equipment.

“We won’t both fit!” she said, backing away. She could hear voices now.

“Just get in here!” Strike said, grabbing her arm and hauling her in. He pulled the door closed behind her with a quiet click and they were plunged into darkness.

“Cormoran—”

“Shh.”

They stood, listening. Voices approached, moved on a little way, came back. Robin hardly dared breathe. She was horribly conscious of how close she was standing to Strike in the tiny cupboard. He had let go of her arm and was leaning away from her a little, half turned with one arm braced against the wall behind him. She wondered why he didn’t just step away, and then remembered the mop and bucket that were occupying that area of floor. A clang from accidentally kicking those would give their presence away immediately.

They listened. The guards were discussing something. They came back a little closer, and Strike and Robin could hear the conversation. The gist of it was that the office that Corporate Guy had left unlocked for them had been discovered - one of the guards had tried the door because a lamp had been left on. So it was decided that one would stay to guard the office while the other would go in search of the master key downstairs.

Robin closed her eyes in horror. This was going to take ages. It didn’t sound like the guards knew where the master keys were kept. Normally they just patrolled corridors. She opened her eyes again, but it made no difference in the darkness. The door fitted well, and the corridor was dim, leaving little for her eyes to adjust to.

At least she was stood relatively comfortably. She couldn’t leave Strike trying to stand twisted in the little space he’d allowed himself.

“Cormoran,” she breathed, very quietly.

“Shh,” he said again, almost inaudible.

She reached out blindly in the dark, found his free arm and pulled him gently to bring his ear down to her mouth. She could smell his aftershave, spicy and musky, feel the heat of his cheek so close to hers. Her heart fluttered. _God, it’s warm in here, she thought._

“You can’t stand twisted like that,” she breathed into his ear, and couldn’t help but notice his shudder as her breath washed over him. She chose to ignore it. “Your knee.”

Strike turned his head to hers to reply, a barely audible whisper in her ear. His breath against her cheek set every nerve in her spine alight. “What else do you suggest?” he asked softly. “This is already awkward enough.”

“We’re professional,” she replied, low. “Just stand up, lean on this wall.” She was backed right up to her wall, and gently pulled him to face her. She knew he’d stand in agony for as long as it took, and she couldn’t bear the thought. This was going to be bad enough already, without him injuring his knee over it and possibly his back, too.

Stood upright, facing her, he was practically pressed against her in the tiny space that was left, but she could sense that he was standing a little easier. “Lean on the wall, come on,” she breathed. “Rest your knee if you can.” She pulled gently on his arm again, felt his hesitation, his reluctance, but then he acquiesced and rested his hands on the wall behind her. She was hemmed in now, his hands either side of her head, but she decided to just pretend she wasn’t. She couldn’t see anything anyway. _I’ll just shut my eyes and pretend he’s six feet away,_ she thought.

That was much easier to decide than to do. Every nerve ending in her body was aware of his closeness. She could feel the heat of his body radiating, warming her through the thin material of her dress. When she breathed, she could almost taste the scent of his aftershave. His feet were placed either side of hers, their thighs nearly touching. She was reasonably sure that if she took a deep enough breath, her breasts would press against his chest. And even thinking that made them tingle, a rush of goosebumps washing across her skin and causing her nipples to harden. Thank goodness for the darkness. She tried to shrink back but she was already pressed back against the wall. She could feel his breath against her cheek, careful and even. He seemed so calm, and she was furious with herself for not being able to emulate his poise and control. She felt hot and flustered. _Get a grip,_ she told herself.

There was a spell of quiet. Robin began to wonder if the security guard had gone, but then she heard a cough, a stamp of feet. He was still there.

She felt hotter and hotter, practically pressed up against her boss in the tiny cupboard. A bead of sweat trickled down between her breasts. She was so thankful that it was dark and Strike couldn’t see the effect he was having on her. She was so hot, though, she was starting to be afraid he’d smell her. She could still smell his aftershave, so close. Her arms fidgeted a little at her sides, and she brought a hand up to push a damp strand of hair from her face. Her arm brushed against his and she felt him almost flinch away from her. She paused, hoping she wasn’t making him feel uncomfortable, breathing slowly, trying to slow her fluttering pulse.

Another couple of minutes passed. Robin’s legs were tired. She shifted position, trying to redistribute her weight a little, and her thighs brushed against Strike’s. His breath hitched, and suddenly she realised. He was no more calm and in control than she was. This was mutual. Arousal swept through her at the thought. No wonder the heat was rising so rapidly in the small space. Was she imagining that his aftershave smelled muskier now?

Robin had never been in the vicinity of Strike without his piercing eyes seeing through her. The darkness made her feel safer somehow, bolder. She suddenly realised that the element of danger that had seemed scary ten minutes ago was contributing to how she felt. All at once she longed to feel his body against hers, absolutely ached for it. Almost without realising, she pressed her thighs to his again, and her reward was a gasp from him, hurriedly muffled. Desire clenched low in her groin at the effect she had on him. Her body arched towards him reflexively, just enough to brush against him again.

“Robin...” he breathed a warning, but the sound of her name on his lips had the opposite effect than he’d intended.

“Cormoran,” she breathed back, and heard the shaky breath he drew at the sound of it, felt him sway towards her as though unable to stop himself. All at once those thighs were against hers again and his chest was closer too, so that as her breath caught, her breasts pressed against him, the silk of her dress sliding against his suit jacket. The edge of his jacket rubbed against one nipple and a small moan of pleasure escaped her before she could stop it, answered by a shuddering breath from him at the sound of it. Desire was melting her from the inside out, and she was pretty sure from the tremble she could feel from his thighs that he was feeling the same. Her breath stuttered in her chest, and every movement caused her hardened nipple to brush against the edge of his jacket. Arousal flooded her, dampening her knickers, and she was sure he’d be able to smell her. He smelled musky hot, and she wondered if he was as aroused as she was, half desperate to know and half appalled at herself for thinking about her colleague and senior partner being turned on by their proximity.

Slowly, almost unbidden, Robin’s arms crept up from their position at her sides, her hands reaching out tentatively to rest at his waist. She heard his breath catch again as she laid her hands on him. She’d never been so bold as to touch him like this, but she so desperately wanted him closer. She pulled gently, and he swayed right into her, his whole body pressed against her now, giving in to desire. His head was so close to hers, she could hear the unsteadiness of his breathing. His stomach felt soft against her, but his chest wall was hard and she shifted again to rub her aching breasts against him. He gave a faint groan at the feel of her, his hips flexing automatically, and suddenly there was no mistaking his desire, hard and urgent, pressing between her legs.

A hot blush swept up Robin’s chest and across her face at the feel of his erection, but of course he couldn’t see her. _He’s your boss,_ a small voice in her head tried to say, but she ignored it. Despite somehow worrying that it was wrong to think so, she was thrilled to feel that he was as turned on by the situation as she was. She didn’t think she’d ever been so aroused in her life. Her head dropped forward, her forehead resting on his shoulder, her breathing shaky. He dropped his head down too, his breath hot on the back of her neck, and she shivered, her hands tightening on his waist.

There was a pause. Robin held still, burning up, not even sure what she wanted to happen next other than she wanted to almost climb inside his skin, her need to be close to him was so great.

Strike drew a shuddering breath and let it out, and the combination of his chest pressed to hers followed by his hot breath on her neck drew a small sound of need from her throat. With a faint groan he flexed his hips against her again and she gasped as his straining erection butted against the juncture of her thighs. She felt the friction on her clit through the sliding silk of her dress and pleasure jolted through her. She gasped and thrust back against him involuntarily.

“Fuck, Robin—” Strike breathed into her neck, his hips moving against hers now, rubbing up against her. She rocked back into him, unable to stop herself, pleasure and need storming through her. Her panting breath sounded too loud in the silence, and she was suddenly acutely aware of what they were doing, so close to the security guard just outside the door, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Every rock of his hips rubbed against her in oh, so nearly almost the right way, maddeningly close to pure pleasure but separated by too many layers of clothing. She pressed her hips harder against him and a soft whimper of pure frustration escaped her.

The sound of her own voice brought her back to herself a little, and Robin realised what they were doing, getting carried away with, so close to the security guard in the hall. She took a slow, shuddering breath, forced herself to slow her movements.

Footsteps and low voices in the hallway behind the door caused them both to freeze still. Robin leaned back on the wall, Strike’s whole body pressed to hers now, feeling so right. They slotted together perfectly, she thought distantly, ears straining to hear what was going on in the hallway. She could still feel his breath against her cheek, his face inches from her lips, and desire still swam through her body, clouding her thoughts, heating her veins. She felt his unsteady breath at her ear and longed to kiss him.

The second guard had found the key. They checked the office over, locked it and stood for a moment, chatting, then resumed their patrol, voices fading down the corridor.

There was an awkward silence in the cupboard. Robin held still, not wanting to break the spell, heat still coursing through her. His body felt so good against hers.

Eventually, reluctantly, Strike began to ease his body away. Robin whimpered at the loss of him and her hands tightened on his waist again. “No...” she begged softly, pulling him back to her.

“Robin—” Strike began. He was going to break the spell, this moment would be gone, and all that could follow would be awkwardness and embarrassment.

Her hands slid up to his face and she pulled him down to kiss him.

She felt his reluctance, knew he was thinking, curse him for always _thinking_. She opened her mouth to him, desire still rolling through her, her tongue seeking his. Trying to say without words that whatever this was they had started, whatever weirdness, even if they never mentioned it again, she wanted it. Ached for it.

Finally she felt his acceptance, felt him melt into her. He kissed her back, his tongue joining hers, and his hips pressed into her body again, the unmistakable feel of his erection urgent against her. A moan of delight escaped her and she thrust her hips to his again.

He tasted amazing, hot and musky, slightly smoky, slightly of champagne from the party. His tongue thrust against hers and she didn’t think he’d even realised that his hips had begun to rock again, mirroring the actions of his tongue in her mouth. She curled one arm up around his head and the other slid back down around his waist to pull him closer, her hand sliding down over his backside to pull at him, encouraging him against her. Her thighs wanted to part for him, seeking that pleasure again, but the dress was too tight and she whimpered in frustration again, rocking her hips to his.

And now, finally, after so long, he touched her. His hands slid from the wall to her shoulders, brushed down the outsides of her arms, raising a trail of goosebumps and shivers in their wake. They settled on her hips, either side of her, his fingers stroking lightly. He paused, and then slowly gripped the fabric of her dress at her hips and began to tug gently upwards, ruching the fabric up.

Robin made a small needy sound into his mouth as she realised what he intended, and kissed him harder. Slowly, slowly, he bunched the dress up at her hips, the hem sliding up her calves, over her knees. Still his hips moved against her, everything sliding, silk rustling, his erection pressing hard against her.

Her hand was still tangled in his hair, gripping his soft curls as she kissed him and kissed him. Finally, gasping, she had to break away to breathe, and he trailed fierce, hungry kisses along her jaw to her neck. He had surrendered utterly to their mutual desire, and it stoked the flames within her. She shook with pleasure as he sucked and kissed at her neck and exposed shoulder. Her fingernails scratched at his scalp and he groaned a little against her skin.

The dress was all the way up to her hips now, and suddenly her legs were free. Without even thinking what she was doing, she hooked one leg up over his hip, tilting her pelvis to him, desperately seeking his heat with her melting core. Still grazing his teeth along her neck, Strike slid his hand from her hip down between them, and his fingers found her knickers. He groaned again, louder now, at how wet they were, fingers sliding along the slick fabric, drawing needy whimpers from her throat as he stroked her.

Then his hand slid up, and his fingers dipped inside her knickers and stroked gently across her core, across flesh that was already hungry for more. A cry escaped her before she could stop it.

“Shh,” he whispered, and pressed two fingers gently to her mouth in a warning. Still his fingers explored, sliding back and forth against her wetness, bringing moisture forward to rub against her clit. Pleasure arced along every nerve ending in her body and she bit at his fingers, trying to keep from crying out again, her hips stuttering against his hand. Her hands clenched, one in his hair and the other still at his waist. She heard him groan at the effect he was having on her, and suddenly it was all too much, the heat, the sound of his groan, the slide of his fingers on her desperate clit, his body pressed to hers. His fingers slid again and she gasped.

“Cormoran, stop, stop, I’m—” It was too late. Her orgasm broke over his sliding fingers, her back arching, a muffled cry against his hand as he pressed it to her mouth to quiet her. She sobbed and gasped as he kept stroking, drawing spasms from her, pleasure so great it was almost painful, she was so stimulated. At last she writhed away from him, body language begging him to stop, and he drew his hand back gently. Her foot dropped back to the floor. He held her as she panted against his shoulder, one hand on her hip and the other sliding into her hair. He stroked her head as she shuddered against him, her clinging hands slowly relaxing.

Hot embarrassment swept up her as she came back to herself. He’d barely begun to touch her and she’d completely lost it. “Shit, sorry,” she muttered, and felt him smile a little and huff a breath into her hair.

“God, don’t apologise,” he murmured hoarsely. “That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Not that I did see it,” he corrected himself, and she smiled against his chest in the darkness. She took a deep breath of his scent, smoky and spicy and hot. Then, curious, her fingers found their way to his chest and began undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. She wanted to feel his chest hair that she had caught glimpses of over the years.

His breath caught sharply again, but he didn’t try to stop her. She slid her hands into his shirt, exploring, running her fingernails through his dense hair, and a low moan escaped him, drawing a shudder from her. She was still half aroused, she realised in wonder.

Her hands slid lower and began to undo his trousers, wrestling with the button and sliding the zip down.

“Robin...” He tried to slow her now, capturing her hands in his. “Are you sure you—?”

“God, Cormoran, stop _thinking_ ,” she murmured, and heard and felt the rumble of laughter from him.

“It’s what I do,” he said ruefully, but she could hear the tremor in his voice, the desire, the need. She pushed his hands away from hers and slid inside his trousers, seeking him, pulling him out. He groaned deeply at her touch, thrusting his hips at her again. He was rock hard, and her arousal was rising again to join his. She pushed his trousers and boxers down over his hips and grabbed his backside, hearing another rumble of amusement from him in response.

Robin shimmied her soaked knickers down off her backside, dropped them to the floor and pulled one leg out to hook over his hip again. Then she pulled him towards her, sliding his erection over her slick folds, and he gasped, amusement forgotten, and thrust against her, moaning a little. He slid against her clit and she grunted at the pulse of pleasure that jolted through her.

He captured her mouth with his again, kissing her, still sliding against her, and she began to buck her hips to his, beginning to ache for him again, pulling her leg higher over his hip, eager for him to fill her.

His hands went to her hips, steadying her, and she felt him position himself against her.

“God, Robin, I wish I could see you,” he muttered into the darkness. “I—I don’t want to judge this wrong. Are you sure?”

“Fuck, yes,” she whispered. “ _Please,_ Cormoran.”

The sound of her begging tipped him over the edge. With a groan he thrust into her, not as gently as she had been expecting given his hesitation. The sensation of being filled by him almost made her cry out again and she had to bite down on her lip. He paused, buried deep inside her, shuddering, and she waited, wondering if he was struggling for control. It wouldn’t surprise her after the heat between them. She slid her hands up around his back and hugged him to her, nuzzling her face into his broad chest.

Then he slowly began to move, gripping her hips hard, withdrawing and thrusting into her. Now it was her turn to remind him of the need for quiet as he groaned out his pleasure in her ear. She turned her face to him, capturing his mouth with hers, and he kissed her fiercely. He was trembling all over and she was awed again by the effect she had on him and how hard he fought to control it.

She smiled fondly against his mouth, and then bit down gently on his lower lip and tugged. Strike swore under his breath, his rhythm faltering, and Robin felt a fierce thrill of feminine power. She wanted to make him lose control as she had. The thought of it was increasing her own pleasure still further. She brought her hands up to his hair again, tangling through it and pulling his head gently to one side so she could run kisses along his jaw to his ear. He was moaning a little with each thrust now, his hips hard against hers, and she could tell he was getting close. She reached his ear and sighed into it, felt him pulse inside her as he thrust again, sending a shockwave of pleasure through her. Then she bit down on his earlobe, harder than she had intended.

“Fuck,” he hissed, and she felt his control shatter. He grunted into her ear as he came, sounds that she was sure would have been louder but for their need for quiet, choked-back groans, bucking his hips to hers as he pulsed into her. The feeling of it, the pure intensity of the moment, tipped her over the edge too and she came again, gentler this time but deeper somehow, contracting around him as he drove into her. She clutched his head in her arms and at last he stilled, half collapsing against her, breathing hard, shaking.

There was quiet for a minute as their breathing returned to normal, and then Strike gently withdrew and levered his body away from hers. Robin dropped her foot to the floor, her hips aching but every muscle in her body humming with pleasure.

His hands came up now to cup her face and he leaned his forehead on hers in the darkness that she was suddenly thankful for again, shyness sweeping over her at what had just happened.

“You okay?” he asked softly, and Robin nodded, her forehead still against his. He kissed her, slowly and sweetly, his tongue lingering against hers, and then drew back.

“Now what?” she whispered.

“Well,” he said. “That office is locked again so we’re going to have to abandon things here and try again another time, I think.”

That wasn’t really what Robin had meant, but she nodded again. Was that it? Back to work mode? She tried not to feel hurt. She had instigated what had happened, he had been reluctant. She couldn’t blame him at all. She wriggled her dress off her hips so that it fell back to the floor, hoping there weren’t any obvious stains on it. Strike was pulling his clothes back into place as well, fumbling buttons in the dark, his hands brushing against her in the enclosed space that she suspected smelled strongly of sex now.

Clothing straightened, they paused, listening. No sound from the corridor.

“Okay?” he asked again softly.

“Yup,” she said, more briskly than she felt, and he cautiously opened the door.

The corridor was empty, and its previous gloom seemed much lighter after the darkness of the cupboard. Strike stepped out. Flushing a little, Robin bent to pull her knickers back up quickly, straightened her dress again and followed him.

They walked in silence down the dim hall, and slipped back unnoticed into the party which seemed dazzlingly bright after their time in the dark cupboard. Robin stole half a glance towards Strike’s profile, and wondered if her cheeks were as flushed as his, her forehead as damp. Surely no one could fail to guess what they’d been up to.

“Let’s go,” Strike said, and Robin nodded, her eyes lowering back to the floor. She didn’t know quite how she was ever going to meet his gaze again.

They moved to the lifts. Strike pressed the button and they stood waiting, awkward.

“Are you ever going to look me in the eye again?” he asked, softly, teasing, and she flushed scarlet. “No,” she said in a low voice.

He chuckled. “Then how am I going to gaze into your eyes over dinner one evening?” he asked.

Then her gaze did dart to his, and she saw how fondly he was looking at her, and flushed again, smiling.

“Really?” she asked, unsure.

“Of course!” he said. “God, Robin, did you really think I’d go back to work like nothing happened?”

“I—” It did sound silly when he put it like that. The lift arrived and he took her hand and pulled her into it. The doors slid closed behind them, and he drew her into his arms.

“This is the beginning, not the end,” he said, resting his forehead on hers. “I hope?”

She nodded again, shy, and he kissed her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The scene we wished we’d got in Musketeers 2.09 ;)


End file.
